


The Power and the Glory

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a dark and stormy night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power and the Glory

In retrospect, clinging to an angel who was in the process of going supernova was not the brightest move Dean had ever made in a life already filled with bad decisions. Every square inch of exposed skin instantly blistered and peeled, as if he'd ventured too close to the sun. Even with his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as was humanly possible, radiation burned through his eyelids and hot tears leaked from the corners of each eye. It took several tries before Dean could force his eyes open, as a rustling sound announced the disappearance of Castiel's wings and the angel's death grip finally loosened on his arm.

Dean lifted his head and blinked until Castiel's face swam slowly into view.

There was not a scratch on the angel, not a blemish, not a trace of blood. Even his anti-possession tattoo was gone! His skin glowed like a marble statue in moonlight, the perfect flesh as cold and unyielding to the touch as any night-kissed stone would be. The fact that he was nude did not seem to trouble Castiel in the slightest. His gaze was stern as he released Dean's shoulder and made careful appraisal of the damage his unleashed Grace had caused to the human. A gentle brush of his fingers against Dean's cheek instantly healed all of the hunter's injuries, but when Dean leaned his face into the angel's hand, Castiel frowned and quickly stepped away.

“Cas?” Dean whispered. “Castiel?”

“Yes?” Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean inquiringly. A high-pitched hum of power assaulted Dean's protesting eardrums and rippled the air between them, as if Castiel was not quite in control of his reinstated Glory and was a heartbeat away from bursting into his true form.

“I'm guessing we overshot our Angel of the Lord target,” Dean said nervously. “What are you, Cas? Are you a god again?”

“No.” Castiel's gaze lost focus as he directed all his concentration inward, probing, testing, assessing. “But it would seem I have, as you might say, been promoted. I am an archangel, Dean.”

“Archangel? That's quite the promotion.”

Castiel's head tilt deepened as he listened to a voice only he could hear. “I am being summoned,” he said. “I must go.”

“So, this is goodbye?” Dean said, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I do not know,” Castiel replied soberly, and vanished with a familiar flutter of invisible wings.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Fuck. Like that never gets old.”

 

~*~

 

As badly as Dean had fared, Crowley's fate was worse. All that remained of the King of Hell was a little pile of charred dust and a blackened lump of silver. Dean bent and picked up the misshapen coin, depositing it in his pocket for safe-keeping before continuing on his way across the room to Sam.

“Are you all right, Dean?” Sam said, sharp eyes studying his brother's wan face.

“I'm good. Never better. Mission accomplished, Sammy. God and Cas are in Heaven, all's right with the world.” Dean freed his brother from his restraints and drew him into a hug so fierce that it threatened to crack the taller man's ribs.

“Pretty damned clever of you,” Sam grunted, trying to fill his aching lungs with much needed air. “Leave it to you to figure out a way to save us both. Though, I have to admit, you had me going there for a few minutes. I really thought you had chosen Cas over me.” Wriggling his arms free, he pushed Dean back until he could see his face again.

A single tear rolled from one green eye, painting a silvery trail down Dean's cheek.

“Dean?”

“We'd better go see to Bobby,” Dean said, releasing Sam and scrubbing a trembling hand across his face. “He's hurt.” Measured footsteps carried him to the base of the stairs and he began to climb them without a backwards glance.

“Dean?” Sam called, hastening after his brother. “That was the plan... right? To save us both? _Dean?”_

Dean made no reply.

 

~*~

 

Bobby was conscious, but still lying on the floor: his back against the wall and both legs sprawled out in front of him, the left one twisted at an impossible angle. He looked up when Sam and Dean rounded the corner, and huffed out a relieved sigh. “It's about time you two idjits got here,” he grumbled. “That Limey bastard dislocated my shoulder and broke my fucking leg. I thought I was going to have to crawl back to the car.” He glanced behind them expectantly. “Where's your angel, Dean? Think he might have a little healin' mojo to spare?”

“I'm sure he would, if he was here,” Dean sighed. “But he buggered off to Heaven after smiting Crowley. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” A few quick gestures of his hand signalled his intent to Sam. Sam nodded. In unison, then, Sam moved to brace the old hunter while Dean popped his arm back into its socket.

“But he'll be back, right?” Bobby said, sweat beading his brow as the brothers formed a cradle with their arms and carefully settled him in the improvised seat.

“I don't know,” Dean replied, his mouth pinched into a tight line and a world of hurt shimmering in his eyes.

“He'll be back,” Sam stated confidently. “I just hope he has the decency to pick up some clothing along the way. Which reminds me, do I have a clean shirt in the car?”

 

~*~

 

Despite being in the driver's seat instead of riding in the back, the sense of _déjà vu_ was overwhelming as Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Bootbock General Hospital. As Sam sprinted off to commandeer a wheelchair, Dean's hands clenched upon the steering wheel, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Okay there, Dean?” Bobby said quietly.

“I'm the one who's supposed to be asking you that,” Dean weakly joked.

“Dean...”

“Don't,” Dean begged. “Please... don't. Not now, Bobby. Let's just get you doctored up so we can get out of here.”

Sam returned just then, and the brothers busied themselves with transferring Bobby to the wheelchair and rolling him inside. Sam filled out the form this time, and when it was completed Dean made his way to the admittance desk and handed over the clipboard and a credit card. Inevitably, it was the same nurse on duty. Equally as inevitably, she recognized Dean.

“Back again, Mr. Jagger? Another fall?”

“Yes,” Dean said shortly.

“Your family has the damnedest luck,” she murmured.

“You have no idea,” Dean replied.

 

~*~

 

The drive back to Sioux Falls was a quiet one, save for the exhausted snores rising from the Impala's backseat. Several times Sam sought to initiate a conversation, but each time the taut line of Dean's jaw had him snap his own mouth shut and stare out the window instead. Just as they made the turn into Singer's Salvage Yard, the heavens opened and sheets of rain pelted across the windshield, blinding Dean until he switched the wipers on full blast. Even then, he was hard pressed to safely park the car. All three men were drenched by the time they finally reached the refuge of Bobby's house. As Bobby sat shivering on a kitchen chair, Sam ran upstairs to change and fetch the old hunter some dry clothes.

Good thing you're such a pack rat,” Dean teased, digging Bobby's old wheelchair out from the back of an overflowing closet. Resolutely, he turned his eyes from the warm winter coat and boots Castiel no longer would require, and concentrated instead on helping Bobby into the chair.

“I hoped I'd never see this thing again,” Bobby grumbled.

“At least it's only temporary this time. You'll be on crutches before you know it.”

“There's that,” Bobby acknowledged, wheeling himself towards the downstairs bath. Sam trotted down the stairs just then, and dropped a pile of clothing in his lap in passing. “It's like riding a damned bike,” the old man muttered as he slammed the bathroom door.

“Dean?”

“Not now, Sam. I have to get out of these wet clothes. Catching pneumonia would be the final goddamned straw.”

“But, Dean...”

“I said, _not now, Sam!”_ Dean shouted. “Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?”

“Sure thing, Dean,” Sam whispered to his brother's back as Dean loped up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door. _There's a lot of that going around tonight,_ Sam thought sadly. _This is supposed to be a victory party._ Sighing heavily, he rummaged in a cupboard until he found a couple of cans of soup to heat up for supper.

 

~*~

 

Dean had no appetite, but he forced down a bowl of piping hot soup and even had seconds just to erase the kicked puppy look from Sam's eyes. Bobby's head was nodding before he finished his first serving. Yawning widely, he excused himself and his chair squeaked its way to the bed Sam and Dean had lugged downstairs and set up in the study.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean returned the stare. Neither spoke. Neither quite knew what to say.

Sam cracked first under the tension. “Uh,” he said. “I'm a little tired too. Do you mind?”

“Nah. Go ahead and get your beauty rest. I'll clean up down here, then hit the hay myself.”

Okay...” Sam hesitated, then flung his arms around his brother and hugged him tight. “Goodnight, Dean,” he mumbled, and fled.

“G'nite, Sammy,” Dean belatedly replied. Knowing he would find no easy escape in sleep, he puttered around the kitchen, tidying up the few dishes in the sink, before turning off the light and seating himself at the table with a bottle he'd cleverly liberated from a dusty shelf. Pouring a glass full to the brim, he raised it towards the ceiling in a mocking toast. “Here's to you, Cas, you stupid son of a bitch,” he said. “I hope you choke on those damned wings.”

Dean tossed the drink down in one. A second glass followed the first. And then, stealing past Bobby, he carried the third glass and the half empty bottle with him up the stairs, retaining wits enough to know he didn't want his brother to find him passed out cold on the floor in the morning. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth drink, the hunter staggered from the window overlooking the scrap yard to his lonely bed and stretched out on the covers without bothering to remove so much as his boots. And as he sipped the amber liquid, fire trickling down his throat and numbing the pain, he closed his eyes and pretended that it didn't have to be this way. That love didn't always rip the still beating heart out of your breast. That happily ever afters really happened. That Castiel was curled beside him in the bed: soft lips pressed to his cheek, gentle fingers stroking through his hair, whispering: “everything is going to be all right. I promise, Dean.” And it was. It really was.

The glass slipped from Dean's lax hand and tumbled to the floor.

 

~*~

 

Dean wasn't sure what woke him. One minute he was sound asleep, lost in a dreamless slumber, and the next his eyes snapped open and he launched himself up from the bed, heart pounding, mouth dry and his alcohol-laden stomach heaving from the sudden motion, although his brain was once again disgustingly stone-cold sober.

Stumbling his way across the room to the window, he peered out into the dooryard.

It was a dark and stormy night. Of course it was. Dean's life was filled with dark and stormy nights, each crap storm bigger and badder than the one before. He'd be a fool to ever anticipate anything else.

Dean pressed his forehead against a cold windowpane and sighed, his eyes suddenly drawn to the unmistakable figure of Castiel standing out there in the pouring rain: unruly hair slicked to his skull, his face and arms triumphantly lifted to the sky. The shadow of great, dark wings flickered in and out of view as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The air pulsed with an invisible current that prickled at the back of Dean's neck and raised goose bumps on his arms. Castiel, Archangel of the Lord, was truly a wonder to behold. Dean should be happy for him. He knew he should. Why then, did he feel as if he'd been sucker punched? He couldn't breathe... he couldn't fucking breathe...

Castiel's arms stretched wider, as if to embrace the eternity that was his birthright. His mouth opened and a cry of pure, unadulterated joy whooped from his lungs and momentarily drowned out the fury of the storm. And, then, Castiel closed his eyes and simply stood there, lost in a rapture of complete union with the universe.

“Sonofabitch,” Dean muttered. “How can I ever compete with _that?”_

“Hello, Dean,” Chuck said, his image suddenly mirrored in the glass.

“Hello, Chuck,” Dean replied, carefully maintaining his rigid stance. “I suppose you're here to collect your angel?”

“Yes... if he so wishes. But I rather doubt he will. He is no longer mine, Dean. From the moment he first laid eyes upon you, he has been yours. Angel or human, he has poured all his faith, all his hope, into his love for you.”

“And that doesn't bother you?” Dean did turn at that, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting my pride... But, at the same time, it pleases me greatly. Castiel is one of many – one very small part of a very vast host, all cut from the same cloth – and yet he is unique amongst his brethren. Knowing you – loving you – has made him so much more than it was ever intended an angel would be. I know a father is not supposed to have favourites, but he is very precious to me. I am proud of my son – be he human or angel – and if he chooses to love and follow you, I will respect that choice.”

“Oh,” said Dean in a tiny little voice.

“Castiel and I had a lovely little chat earlier this evening. I gave him a few options to mull over. He may ascend and assume the duties of an archangel, replacing Michael as commander of the Holy Host. He may retain his original allotment of Grace and divide his time between Earth and Heaven. Or, he may spend his days with you as a human. Love you as you so need to be loved. Grow old with you... ” Chuck smiled fondly. “I have it on good authority that it would be a very long and happy life.”

“I can't ask that of him,” Dean whispered.

“It's not a matter of asking, it's a matter of accepting.”

“Then, I can't accept such a gift. He belongs in Heaven.”

“Yes, he does,” Chuck nodded. “And he will be there again someday. But, right now, his home – his heaven – is where you are. So, until you walk amongst us,” Chuck pointed upwards, “it would be cruel to take him there against his will.”

“Chuck...”

“Your lifetime is but the blink of an eye in my long existence, Dean. My son – all of my sons – will return to me. And they will be honoured. Castiel will stand at my right hand, you and Sam at my left.”

“You must be running low on henchmen if you're considering me for a job upstairs.”

“Castiel did manage to thin the ranks a bit,” Chuck said wryly.

“Yeah.” Dean grinned reminiscently. “He was pretty kick ass, wasn't he? And now he is again.” The grin faded. “Just look at him, Chuck... He's happy. He may not want to give that power up. Not so soon... maybe not ever. ”

“He is subject to a greater power,” Chuck rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. “He's in love with you, Dean. And your secret is out, we all know you feel the same way. Don't you think it's time to match words to action? Go to him. Ask him to stay with you. Accept his answer.”

“What if he says no?” Dean whispered, turning his gaze back to Castiel. If ever that dick angel had needed a trench coat, it was now. His shirt and slacks were plastered to his body, clinging closer than a second skin. As close as Dean longed to be. “What if he – What if I – ”

But when he forced himself to turn, unable to articulate his jumbled thoughts, hoping God could read the question in his eyes, Chuck had vanished.

 

~*~

 

Dean slipped into his own jacket, then picked up Castiel's trench coat from where it still lay in a crumpled heap to one side of the kitchen door. Draping it over his arm, he stepped outside. Rain slanted in under the porch roof and soaked the bottom half of his jeans long before he ventured into the muddy yard. Slogging through puddles and shivering from the cold, Dean made his careful way towards Castiel, slowing his pace to a snail's crawl as he drew near. Sensing his approach, the angel's gaze unerringly turned from the heavens and focused on Dean. Castiel's wings shivered and disappeared between one flash of lightning and the next.

“You came back,” Dean said, stating the obvious.

“Dean,” Castiel chided gently, “you must have known that I would.”

“No. I really didn't know that. Not after the way you just up and left.”

“I could not refuse my Father's summons... but nothing could keep me away,” Castiel said. “I was prepared to do battle with Him if He tried to keep me from you. I'm sorry you thought otherwise.”

The hunter stared silently at the angel, keeping his face deliberately blank, though there was a wealth of emotion swirling in his eyes. Whether that was a good thing or a bad, Castiel could not say without using his 'angel mojo' to invade the human's highly prized right to privacy. But, knowing Dean, he could make an educated guess.

“Dean...” Castiel softly begged. “Please, Dean...”

As Dean saw it, he had a few choices of his own to make. He could extract justice for his injured pride, stalk off in a self-righteous huff and tell Castiel to go to hell – in other words, bite off his nose to spite his face. He could mete out forgiveness drop by jealous drop and make Castiel suffer the same pangs of uncertainty as he had suffered. Or he could let it go. Let it all go, all the hurts, real or imaginary, that had defined him through the years. He could do as his heart commanded, and make the choice he should have made weeks ago – fuck, months ago! Forgive Cas. Love Cas.

Dean shook out the trench coat and draped it around Castiel's shoulders. “There's a saying here on Earth,” he said. “You may have heard it. Something about not having enough sense to come in out of the rain?”

Castiel smiled, spreading his coat open like unfurling wings, clearly inviting Dean to step inside the circle of his arms.

“That's not a very archangel-y way to behave,” Dean observed, looping his arms around Castiel's waist and nestling close to a very reassuringly warm body.

“I declined the promotion,” Castiel said quietly, wrapping the coat around them both.

“Oh?” Dean said. “Was that wise?”

“Yes,” Castiel stated firmly. “I did not like the way so much power eroded the humanity I worked so hard to acquire. Worse, I was loath to touch you – gravely concerned that I might inadvertently cause you harm.”

“I thought you were done with me.”

“Never, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “I will never 'be done' with you.” Without giving Dean a chance to respond to this declaration, unable to bear another moment without relearning the sweet taste of his complicated human, the angel kissed him. And a most un-angelic kiss it was: all spit-slicked lips and hot, questing tongue; sharp teeth and sharper need; hunger and lust and love...

“Oh, God...” Dean moaned, as their lips parted and he drew in great gulping breaths of air. He froze, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd said. But there was no flash of light, not a tingle from Castiel's mark.

“No God,” Castiel murmured. “There's only you and me here now. At least... I hope there is still a you and me. I know how much my disappearance hurt you... and when you hear what else I have to say...” He bit his lip and stared even more intently than usual at the hunter. “I am frightened, Dean.”

“I can't imagine anything scaring you, Cas.”

“The thought of losing you is terrifying.”

“I know the feeling,” Dean murmured, hugging him closer, tighter. “You don't get to do that anymore, do you hear? You don't get to flutter off heaven knows where without letting me know you intend to come back. Chuck can kiss my ass if he doesn't like the delay, but I get an explanation before you leave. Ideally, I get kissed stupid every time you say goodbye.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said meekly. “I promise. Just as I promise to always honestly answer any questions you might have. Anything you want to ask, Dean. Anything at all.”

“Okay,” Dean sighed and stepped back, squaring his shoulders.. “Okay... here's a question for you. It's been bugging me for some time now. What was with all the colours each time we... uh... mojoed you up?”

“The white symbolized forgiveness at its most basic level. The blue was the core of my Grace. The green... it was your soul. You touched me with your very soul. I could have asked no greater honour... dreamed of no greater ecstasy...”

Dean's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of amazement. “Are you saying my soul was fucking your Grace?” he said slowly.

“Your soul _elevated_ my Grace. That is not the same thing at all. There was nothing crass about it, Dean. It was pure and good and – ”

“Crowley was right. I'm the lowest of the low. I sullied the light with my touch. With my base desires.”

“No.”

“I dragged an angel down into the muck with me.”

“No! You did not do anything to me that I did not wish for you to do. Nothing that I had not wished for a very long time.”

“What are you saying, Cas?”

“You are not the one who sullied the light, Dean. It was I. Long before you wanted me, I wanted you. The dark souls were a means to achieve that end. Yes, I primarily sought to use them to protect you but, more than that, I wanted to possess you. I wanted you to be completely mine. And I did everything within my power to achieve that goal.”

“No, Cas...”

Castiel took a deep breath and leaned in until he was very, very sure Dean could read the sincerity in his eyes.

“I love you, Dean. I am in love with you. All else pales before that truth... nothing else matters to me. Not God, not Earth, not my own continued existence. You are everything to me. And the night we...” Castiel blushed. “The night we first had sex – No! The night we first made love! Because that is what it was, there's no denying it! – you wanted to know why I asked you to bow down and love me...

“To deepen our bond has always been my heart's desire. Even full to overflowing with all those dark souls, I was empty. Your soul was the only soul I craved. The only touch I needed to make me whole.”

Castiel's hand lifted and reached out towards Dean, but instantly dropped back down to his side as if he was afraid the human would bolt and run from this unwelcome advance.

“As the darkness consumed me, the only thought in my mind, the only thing I clung to, the only bit of me that continued to exist, was the part of me that loves you. I hoped that you might care enough to admit you loved me too... that your love would save me... and, in a sense, it did. You stood up to God himself for me. But you couldn't say the words out loud. Not until today. Of course, now that you know the truth of my duplicity, I will not hold you to your confession. I may be an angel once again, but I am not worthy of your love.”

“Cas... This thing between us... it's growing stronger every day. Already it's so big that I can't wrap my head around it. I can't imagine where it's going or how it's going to end... but I know this. I want you in my life. I want you in my bed. Nothing you've said has changed my mind about that. So you were tempted... I've been tempted too. You saw what I became. You pulled me out of Hell. You loved me anyway. Don't you think you deserve to be rescued too? Your only crime is love. You said it yourself, God rewarded you for that. He gave you the chance to learn what love really means. You're a star pupil, Cas. I've never seen anyone with more love to give.”

“Look in a mirror, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “Look in a mirror and you will see how very wrong you are. If only you could see the man I see...”

“We're a fine pair, aren't we?” Dean chuckled, drawing close to Castiel again. “Good thing we have each other. Who else would want us?”

“You forgive me?” Castiel said disbelievingly. “Just like that, you forgive me?”

Dean captured Castiel's face between his hands. “I _love_ you,” he replied. “Now... do you think we can move this conversation in out of the fucking rain? There's something I have to ask you...”

“The answer is yes.”

“But you don't know the question.”

“It doesn't matter,” Castiel murmured. And kissed him.


End file.
